It's always darkest before the dawn
by ibuzoo
Summary: Tom whispers sweet nothings on her skin, on her neck and Hermione is doomed because she shouldn't trust him, shouldn't trust a single word but she can't help but repeat them, tangles her hands deep in his dark silken head and she yanks him back, locks their eyes, breathes words she doesn't mean or perhaps she does, she doesn't know anymore.


**It's always darkest before the dawn (so you can doubt and you can hate)**

**Prompt: **Graveyard

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Modern AU

**Word count: **1003

**Summary: **Both incredibly young, both still in college and Tom whispers sweet nothings on her skin, on her neck and Hermione is doomed because she shouldn't trust him, shouldn't trust a single word but she can't help but repeat them, tangles her hands deep in his dark silken head and she yanks him back, locks their eyes, breathes words she doesn't mean or perhaps she does, she doesn't know anymore.

**A/N: **I admit that I had problems to get 1k words together, I had 600, then 700, then 800 and so on and I needed to put little informations in it again and again until I finally had 1003 words. I blame it on the rain, really.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

**o.**

She spots him at a party of all things and it's amazing how she's even able to see him trough the thick fog of cigarette smoke and joss sticks in different kinds of flavours which burn in the back of Hermione's throat and tickle in her nose - vanilla, cinnamon, cherry, all too sweet.

He's standing besides Abraxas, a bottle of Perrier dangling lazily between his fingers, eyes pale grey with a sharp intellect that reflects in both orbs and they couldn't tear their glances away from each other, frozen in place while she kept swaying to the music, while he kept talking to his blond friend, foreigners yet still the same.

It's almost innocent, the looks they give each other trough the night, the touches that linger far too long that evening, when he brushes her accidentally, cold hands on her skin and she takes a breath, smells aftershave and fresh water in the air, licks her lips, lets him pass.

There's too many of them, the apartment is too small and he leaves before midnight.

She leaves soon after.

**i.**

_(they meet but it's not enough)_

**ii.**

They're alone when it happens, in a back alley of London's old streets, just around the corner of the Starbucks she's used to visit in her breaks, and he presses her back against a dirty wall, pushes her up until dark stains are on her shirt, mud and grease. His fingers burn trough the thin layer of clothes, just over her stomach, on her hips and their lips leave ghostly traces on each other, lingering but never quite touching.

Both incredibly young, both still in college and Tom whispers sweet nothings on her skin, on her neck and Hermione is doomed because she shouldn't trust him, shouldn't trust a single word but she can't help but repeat them, tangles her hands deep in his dark silken head and she yanks him back, locks their eyes, breathes words she doesn't mean or perhaps she does, she doesn't know anymore.

They bite at their lips and it stings like sewing needles that try to stitch her back together.

**iii.**

_(they kiss but it's not enough)_

**iv.**

They move together in Tom's flat, a week after her twenty first birthday, and everything's raw and passionate, the way he presses her down, hard and crassly, digs his fingers in the hollows of her wrists, leaves bruises when morning comes in blue and violet shades, sometimes even peach and red, and she moans his name, tastes it on her lips like a heavy succulent flavour that engraved itself on the back of her mind.

Their love is damaged, brutal, raucous - but she doesn't mind.

Neither does he.

**v.**

_(they fuck but it's not enough)_

**vi.**

She's nearly thirty when she notices how her biological clock is ticking and she needs to talk to him, needs to know if he wants the same, does he want a boy or a girl, does she want a girl or a boy and are they even prepared to be parents at all? She asks him with trembling fingers, with a shivering mind but her worries are petty, frivolous because Tom wants a heir, agrees and buys a house a week after, an old mansion with a lawn and trees and too many rooms, it's vast, it's luxurious, it's pretentious - it's perfect.

He puts a ring on her finger with a dazzling diamond that reflects the colours of the spectrum in all their glory and she kisses him, presses her lips to his and sucks, bites, gnaws, butchers, yes yes yes.

**vii.**

_(they love but it's not enough)_

**viii.**

Tom's hair is streaked with grey but the years have done nothing to distort his beauty or his handsome features, sixty years and he still looked like in his middle forties and Hermione hates it, pouts more often than not but accepts it nevertheless, the wrinkles around her own eyes, the little crinkles on her features. He teases her about it incessantly but she stopped to care a long time ago, knows that he'd never hurt her on purpose so she accepts it, calls him grandpa and old man and it hurts his ego, flashes behind his grey eyes that never lost their colour at all. They lie together in their bed that Hermione chose and Tom bought and her head rests on his chest, the tangled mess of long locks gone years ago when she cut it off to a modern pixie cut and was too lazy to grow it back again.

Tom's hands draw circles on her bare shoulders and she feels goosebumps crawling up her spine even after all these years.

**ix.**

_(they're one but it's not enough)_

**x.**

Tom dies first, a heart attack that rips him out of Hermione's life and she's glad that's she's the one behind because Tom would have followed her in an instant, would have killed himself a moment after her own heart would have stopped and who'd take care about everything after? She swallows her tears, keeps up the fight, takes him to the grave, cares for their children and just stops a week after.

She lays down in their bed - her bed now - and closes her eyes, sleeps, never wakes again.

**xi.**

_(they die but it's still not enough)_

**xii.**

They share the grass atop their graves, bath in the sun that lights their bodies, they're pressed close, so close that not even a single sheet fits between them. Both are young again, incredibly young and she can see Tom's smirk bright and clear, his eyes with the same intelligent flicker behind it and she can feel his touch, his kisses while they talk, ghosts under a huge tree while they whisper, promise, love.

They fall asleep for the last time on the graveyard, bodies tangled together, something special and secret but they don't care because they're cuddled so close it's impossible to tell where Tom ends and Hermione begins.

**xiii.**

_(they have eternity and that's enough)_


End file.
